


Unreal

by killerkittens22



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, disassociastion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:41:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26549926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killerkittens22/pseuds/killerkittens22
Summary: Hermione finds herself, once again, on a knife's edge. Only Bella isn't holding this one.Trigger warning: Hermione is really out of it and has some dark thoughts, mind the tags.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Kudos: 20





	Unreal

There is a silver knife, gleaming, pale against her skin. Everything in the world seems focused on it as her surroundings fuzz and grey around her, the small room at Malfoy manor coming blearily out of focus. She presses it against her wrist a little harder, not far from the scar Bellatrix gave her with this same knife. Her eyes scan the scar idly for a second, but she feels nothing as her attention is drawn once more to the knife.

It's cold, and her breathing goes sort of shallow.

_Am I...scared?_

She should be. but...her breaths grow smaller, because she can't really tell. There is nothing around her, just her arm and the knife and the her own dull thoughts and her shallow breathing.

The knife is still on her arm, and she wants to press harder, she wants to feel it slice in. She wonders if it will hurt, factually it should, but right now everything feels dull.

Unreal.

Maybe it isn't real, maybe it won't hurt.

What would it be like? To feel the blood drain out and feel her heart slow? To feel everything grow dim.

Everything is dim, there nothing but her and the knife and the terrible idle curiosity of what it would feel like if she pressed down.

The door opens and there is movement behind her.

"Hermione." The voice is soft, but loud and very, very real.

The knife thuds to the floor with a solid sounding thunk against the hardwood. Hermione turns around, small things coming into to focus as she blinks blearily. Like she just woke up.

Hermione is in a room, the walls are a dignified sort of maroon, and there is a lovely antique chair to her right. Harry crosses the floor and Hermione can hear his shoes as he treads across the floor. Harry has come a long way from the skinny eleven year she once knew. There is a weight to him, an adulthood accentuated by his nicely trimmed beard.

He holds her and Hermione is thankful for the surrounding grounding feeling. She is here and Harry is holding her. his strong arms firm against her chest. Hermione feels a bit lighter as she wraps her arms around him (tightly, too tightly, but it is Harry and he is here and substantial and firm and _real)_ and stands up. She takes a breath, a deep one the fills her lungs up and moves her chest, as she feels her muscles twist and move.

Hermione opens her mouth, desperate to say something. Desperate to remind herself she is a _person_ who can _speak_ and not a collection of amorphous thoughts that sees nothing but a knife. She can't deal with the fuzzy unreality of her racing brain and it is with a sense of relief that she hears her next words.

They are rich and deeper and clearer than her head and so she focuses on the way they enter her ears and on the green, green eyes of her husband and on the tight, tight hold of his arms and the solid up and down motion of his chest against hers.

"Harry, let's go home"


End file.
